


Full Circle

by RussianWitch



Series: We are not in Stockholm yet [10]
Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Character Death, Endings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:11:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything comes to an end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full Circle

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd

John had not wanted to be a cop until his dad got killed.  
And even that had taken a while, at first he had wanted to be a businessman, a billionaire; someone who has power and money and control of his life.  
He started wanting to be a cop after he got a reality check or two.  
He had never wanted to be a hostage, certainly never wanted to be a terrorist.  
He certainly had never imagined himself as a terrorist leader, even a fake one.

As soon as he crosses the door he drops the snazzy suit jacket with the trademark blue flower buttonhole on the floor for someone else to pick up and claws off his tie. His attaché case he has already tossed at some recruit or other at the dojo to be given to Barsad.   
Shirt off, he kneels by the bed checking the readouts on the medical equipment that’s taking up half the bedside wall these days. A large hand covers his, but there is far less force behind it than he’s used to. John grabs it tight leaning over to look Bane in the eyes. 

“How are you doing?”

He works his handmade leather shoes off wondering how Ducard dealt with permanent cold feet. Ever since John has gotten roped into being the public face of the League he’s been missing his combat boots more than the last shred of morality he had had to give up to accept the position.   
Shoes off John burrows under the blankets and furs heaped high on the pallet, so he can wrap himself around the diminished body of the man who had fucked up his life beyond recognition so many years before. 

“I am unchanged for the moment.”

John’s hands wander Bane’s body cataloging the changes it has undergone since John had been coerced into going on yet another business trip. Every time he leaves he comes back to Bane who is weaker and straining to prepare the League for his absence.   
Not that anyone is asking John, but he’d prefer to see Bane sparing himself and letting the League figure things out on its own after he’s gone.   
But then John is a selfish bastard and would prefer to spend a couple of more years getting manhandled by the crazy mercenary he’s been spending his life with for the last twenty years.   
He nuzzles at Bane’s throat nipping at the loose skin.

“How was your trip?”

John really doesn’t want to talk business, all he want for the moment is to reassure himself that Bane is still breathing, will keep breathing for a while yet. His worst fear going the last couple of trips has been; not getting back on time because Bane chose the good of the League over his own or John’s need to say goodbye. 

“Gangster type thinks he’s hot shit but I give him two years at the most if he doesn’t wise up. We can use the information he was offering but I’m not sacrificing people to this idiots causes.”

The rusty sound that is Bane’s laugh sends shivers down John’s spine; he locks the memory in his mind for the future like he does with everything these days. 

“The information?”

“I took a walk.”

Bane pulls him closer, until John is half on top of him, and buries his hand in hair that John refuses to admit is receding. Everyone gets old; John has learned to accept it if not exactly gracefully, not that he’s old exactly he’s not 45 isn’t old except when you’re a mercenary and every job can be the last, can end with a bullet to the head. 

John’s ‘walks’ have become legendary over the years.   
There are rumors of him talking “walks” into the Vatican and the Pentagon and right into the Justice League headquarters. Of course most of the rumors are bull, but John still enjoys the awed expressions of the puppies when they first hear the stories. If he is allowed to choose he still prefers doing reconnaissance over business dealings, breaking and entering in search of information to making contacts for the benefit of the League and schmoozing.   
Unfortunately now he’s stuck with the job for life now, or for as long as Bane is still alive.  
John can’t bring himself to think about life without Bane despite all evidence that he’ll have to face it sooner rather than later.

Once upon a time he had thought Bane to be immortal; a mythical creature, a symbol much like Batman. Over the years he’s learned better; living with a man does that, it’s hard to keep thinking of someone as a symbol when they snore you awake, walk in on you while you’re on the toilet and molest you in front of other people because self control is a work thing.   
Still even after John had accepted that Bane was a man like any other, ignoring the world domination and terrorist tendencies, he had never considered that Bane could die.  
Objectively John has known that Bane is considerably older than him for quite some time, has always known about Bane’s need for narcotics to function but he had never thought about the effect the long term use of the narcotics would have on Bane’s system along with all the old injuries.  
Despite everything, John has always had the idea that Bane would keep living on.

“And the results?”

“Like I said the information he was offering was very useful. I gave it to Barsad he can sort it out; I told them I’m on vacation.”

“There is still much to be done…”

“Yeah keeping you from overdoing it for example! I have bad news for you: at the moment your doctor is more scared of me than of you, I got updates every day and you are going to stay in this fucking bed until the doctor says you are allowed out even if I have to go dig up the manacles again!”  
John has experienced Bane ill maybe three times over all the time they have spent together, every time has been memorable leaving scars on both John’s body and the furniture.   
The first time John had been too new, not trusted enough and Bane had to be shackled down to keep him from lashing out at John while he was taking care of the delirious mercenary. The second time had been easier, they had been together longer and trust had been there…now, sometimes it feels like they can read each other’s mind, like he will follow when Bane dies. 

“I see you have extended your poor influence over the medical staff now? Corrupting my teachers wasn’t enough?”

Occasionally Bane still sulks about John’s undermining of the traditional League training system years ago, but with more recruits surviving the process they have been able to branch out letting the older and experienced lieutenants running the operations. Still Bane the control freak has never gotten used to not supervising all operations personally, so occasionally John still bares the blunt of it. Unwilling to get into the old discussion again John reaches down to grab Bane’s cock.   
He gets a groan in return and Bane’s hand sliding from his waist down to his ass. 

“Aren’t you getting tired of bitching about it?”

If John is honest he’s too damned tired after hiking up a fucking mountain because making an actual road would remove their tactical advantage over any attackers, and Bane really isn’t in any condition for them to be screwing but it feels nice to touch each other in such a familiar way. 

“There is a new hospital in Dubai you know, they are doing…”

“The medical staff here is just as capable, and I find comfort in being home with you by my side.”

If he wasn’t so sick John would kick Bane’s ass for that; because he can almost taste the resignation in Bane’s voice. The damn fatalistic bastard has made his peace with dying no matter what John has to say about it and it drives John up the wall when he allows himself the luxury of overreacting. 

“I could be at your side there as well. There is a reason Barsad is your second in command. As long as there are no new clients no one needs me to be sticking around.”

“John…”

He can’t resist starting the conversation over and over again.   
Maybe it’s because John has always been a sucker for a lost cause, or because life has taught him not to give up no matter what.  
Besides, he doesn’t want to be alone again.

“Yeah, yeah I know…and I don’t like it. Just get it through your thick head that I want you to live, you bastard!”

The words escape him unwanted and John feels like he’s 26 again learning self-control and to accept that he won’t see his home town again. It’s been so long that the cop who got kidnapped from Gotham feels like a different person. 

“I know.”

Bane’s thumb rubs across John’s lower lip, the gesture makes John reach for the I.V. needle that’s held ready on the crate that still serves as a bedside table. Finding a vein is automatic by now, unlatching the mask and sliding it off Bane’s head is as well. Carefully John wiggles around until he’s straddling Bane’s waist crouching over him under the covers. From that position he leans down to kiss the ruined lips ignoring the sour taste of sickness in the familiar mouth.   
Bane turns out to still be strong enough to pull John down until his full weight is resting on Bane’s body. When they are both out of breath John buries his face in the crook of Bane’s neck breathing in the familiar sent and cursing the fact that he’s been forced to stay up for 32 hours straight before getting home. John tries fighting sleep, tries staying awake to spend just a little more time with his lover before some idiot or other decides that either one of them is needed for something or other.   
His body overrules him cocooned as he is in warmth and Bane and the sense of home and from one moment to the next John sleeps.

He wakes up because even in his sleep he is disturbed by the lack of movement and the lack of sound next to him. The body he’s lying on is still warm but that is due to being covered and not due to being alive.  
John has learned to face reality good and bad in all its starkness the hard way. He can’t turn the habit off now no matter how much he’d wish to do so.   
He slides out of bed leaving the furs and covers as undisturbed as possible.   
Bane looks like he’s sleeping and for the moment John can really appreciate the illusion.  
He gets dressed in simple pants, shirt, sweater and actual boots and slips out of the room.  
It’s fascinating how no one but him has noticed Bane’s death.   
How he himself has slept through it.  
It should have been impossible for John to sleep through the death of his…kidnapper, teacher, lover, leader, partner in crime…John doesn’t want to think it but the term ‘husband’ comes to mind after all the years they have spent leaning on each other, fighting and fucking.

John finds Barsad in the kitchen, his head in a pot of coffee.   
It’s a usual sight, an ordinary sight and John can barely stand seeing it.   
The sniper looks up, his eyes narrowing as they skip over John’s face, and suddenly his coffee is forgotten and John is getting dragged until a door slams behind them.

“He?”

“While I was sleeping, the reports didn’t say he was this close…”

It’s almost funny after Bane complained that John had corrupted his doctors.

“He wanted you to finish your mission…”

“He didn’t want me to watch him grow weaker you mean. Selfish bastard!”

The furniture suffers John’s wrath getting reduced to splinters as he screams the final words. He’s sure that Barsad has dragged him into a room that is soundproofed so he doesn’t have to worry about keeping control.

“What are you going to do now?”

The question fazes him enough for John to stop kicking another chair apart.

“I don’t fucking know…does the League have burial rituals or something?”

He’s never bothered researching the history of the League; he’s never bothered with traditions but only with results. Despite working towards the League’s goal John has never quite believed in it, he’s believed in Bane…like most of the older members of the army. 

“No, it’s your choice. Most members do not die peacefully after all.”

The translation is that there are rarely bodies to take home and bury properly not with their usual missions. 

“Damn it…I…aren’t you supposed to be in charge now?”

He doesn’t expect his question to be greeted with laughter. 

“You expect a mere lieutenant to take command over Ra’s al Ghul.”

“But…”

He’s been using the alias ‘Damien Ducard’ for a few years now taking advantage of the perceived familial connection. John hasn’t thought about the repercussions of using that name and all of a sudden he has to while he doesn’t want to be thinking at all. 

“He planned this didn’t he?”

Barsad leans against the wall waiting for John to digest the realization.

“You are the leader of the League of Shadows now. As soon as Bane’s body is displayed…everyone will look at you for orders.”

John pinches himself wondering if maybe he’s still asleep and having a nightmare.   
Not that he couldn’t have figured out what Barsad is telling him before, but that would have meant admitting that Bane was doing fare worse that John was willing to admit. Still, it would have been nice to be told what he was being trained for the last five years or so. 

“Right, fuck! Just what everyone wants their personal army! Do whatever is needed to…display the body.”

He suddenly can’t bring himself to call Bane by his name, because the remains in what used to be his bedroom aren’t Bane they are simply used up flesh and bone and metal. 

“The mask, we’ll need to put the mask on him for the displaying, after I want it back.”

He doesn’t wait for Barsad to agree; instead he slams out of the room, barely keeps from running through the hallway until he’s at the end. There he can go one of two ways: he can go through the dojo, out into the yard, onto the road, down to the village and from there back to civilization where he can get in contact with an American embassy and back to a life that’s only a vague memory. Instead he takes the stairs up to the very top of the citadel, towards the highest terraces that are always covered in snow and battered by the wind the one place that has been his refuge since he realized that he is the only one who goes up there years ago. Out in the cold he can’t stop, instead he climbs up; onto the parapet, onto the roof edge until his frozen hands are sticking to the topmost roof tiles and John’s screams are drowned out by the howling winter winds. He doesn’t cry the few tears that escape freeze on his cheeks and for one crazy moment he wants to let go, let the wind take him and follow Bane to wherever he has gone.   
The urge fades soon after carried away from him by the icy wind that by now has frozen him to the core. Afterwards John doesn’t remember how he gets down.  
When he finally goes back to the central hall everyone already knows the news, Bane’s body has already been taken down to the dojo laid out on a pedestal for all to see.  
It stays there for a day and John avoids going into the dojo up until the very end when Barsad forces him to show his face. He shuts down for that ‘visit’ does whatever Barsad tells him to do on automatic, tells the men gathered kneeling in front of the pedestal some bull about the fire still rising, their work still being unfinished. 

They build the pyre in the middle of the night just John, Barsad and Murat dragging the wood out onto the ice and carrying the body out onto it. He doesn’t expect the flames to be so bright in the darkness, doesn’t expect to lose his balance and fall on his ass. The pyre burns hot enough to melt the ice it’s build on; the crash of it cracking startles all three of them. The flames go out; the remains sink under the dark waters taking almost all evidence of the monster’s existence into their depths.   
It’s morning by the time the three of them get back to the Citadel, and by that time the last remains of Robin John Blake are buried as well.   
Damien Ducard walks back into the Citadel to take control of the army that’s been left to him with his lieutenants at his side.

 

Epilogue 10 years later

Barbara Gordon hides behind one of the pillars dark glasses and hat covering her face keeping her hidden from the cameras. Her superiors had warned her to stay away almost as soon as the email containing the name came in.   
She had grown up with the name John Blake and the legend of the cop who disappeared after the siege that is now part of the legend of the city of Gotham. For years everyone had thought John Blake dead.   
And all of a sudden there it is again on a passport carried by a man coming into the country from Asia like he’s been on vacation instead of having been dragged away by escaping terrorist.  
Barbara wanted to see the man whom her father had always held to be a hero.   
The pictures she has are his old ID photograph from the GPD and a grainy security camera picture that got emailed to her by customs just hours before.

When the man passes through the gate he isn't what she expected.  
The man is of average height, slender, receding hairline and eyes hidden by dark glasses, dressed in a dark bespoke suite and leaning slightly on a cane. She spots a bearded man in a bomber jacket who keeps a few paces behind John Blake and is probably a bodyguard, another one joins them at the baggage-claim; dark skinned and older than the other two.   
They don’t pick up any bags at the baggage claim.  
Barbara follows them out barely managing to make it to her car before they pull away and she loses them in traffic.  
To her surprise she follows their car out of the city towards the orphanage that once was Wayne Manor.

"A Gordon on the police force. It wouldn't feel right if there wasn't one."

The man she has been following since the moment he stepped back in to the city is lounging against the side of a middle class four door sedan, his driver still inside but with a window cracked, watching the children play further up the road in the fields. His cane is resting against the car beside him, his hands toying with an unlit cigarette and a lighter.

"Did you know my father?"

The man turns to look at her with a nostalgic smile.

"He made me detective, you have his eyes and from what I hear his tenacity as well."

"Thanks you, I'd like to know why I'm here."

The man who calls himself John Blake chuckles.

"I thought you were the one with the questions detective. I am just a simple business man looking to retire in the city where I was born."

She nods watches him break the cigarette in little pieces and shoves the pieces in his pocket before grabbing the cane and starting around the foot of the hill. Barbara notes that he clearly knows where he is going, that can be achieved by studying maps or using a GPS locator.

"The children certainly brighten up the place, Bruce would probably go insane."

"You knew Bruce Wayne as well?"

"Not well, you could say that he was an inspiration in my younger years."

"Before you left Gotham? You haven't been back in thirty years?"

"Before I was taken from Gotham. I doubt your father shared the more sordid parts of the siege with you Miss Gordon. But some of those sordid parts precluded my return before now." 

She wonders why he smiles as he tells her that he had been kidnapped. He doesn't look like a typical victim of kidnapping both with his bodyguards and from what she has read bottomless accounts.

"You want to know if I am a danger for the city. I can promise you I am not. What I am is nostalgic and finally able to go home."

"Which circumstances precluded your return before?"

As they talk they come to a small graveyard that holds the remains of most of the Waynes who had made their home at the manor.  
John Blake opens the fence to come to standstill at Bruce Wayne's grave.

"My kidnapper would have objected. He rather hated sleeping alone when it wasn't necessary."

Barbara wonders if the man is kidding. The implications of his words are horrifying and yet they are spoken so casually.

"Don't pity me detective. I wasn't raped, simply held against my will...for a time."

"Why didn't you come back after your release?"

"Habit I suppose, growing attached. After a while returning to my old life would not have been possible."

“And now?”

Blake takes his sunglasses off looking her in the eyes for the first time.

“Now I am done.”


End file.
